I STAND IN THE spray of the hot shower, my sodden clothes, a black dress and matching cardigan, thrown into the dryer. There's no saving my stockings, after my hastily tearing them off and poking holes in them with my nails in my haste to get warm. I lather on soap and shampoo, breathing in the scent of the products. I thought he would have given me something of his sisters, something bland and inoffensively feminine, but instead, the toiletries smell like... him. Spices, musk, something earthy.

Quickly finishing my shower, I rinse off my hair and shut off the tap. When I step out of the glass-encased shower, then realize... there are no towels in Antonio Cavalli's bathroom. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke? Because it is the furthest thing from funny to be naked in his bathroom, in his house, with absolutely nothing to cover myself. Does he just enjoy putting me in vulnerable positions? All I can think is that coming here was definitely a mistake.

I scan the bathroom and carefully wipe my hand dry with a section of toilet paper before picking up my phone. Tapping out a text, why are there no towels in your bathroom I hit send. Then I set my phone down by the toilet and step back into the shower, which is thankfully fogged-up and made of frosted glass so that nothing is too visible. As I wait for him to come to my rescue, my annoyance grows, both with him and myself. If he did the no-towel thing on purpose, I will be extremely upset that he's trying to take advantage of me. On the other hand, why did I decide to put myself in such a dangerous situation?

A knock sounds at the door. Taking a quick peek in the clouded mirror with the shower door slightly ajar to ensure that everything essential is hidden from view, I call, "Come in!"

Though I try to keep my voice level and firm, I hear a slight quiver in it and curse myself. If there was ever a time to sound confident, it's right now.

"I brought you some towels," Antonio says, his eyes only fixed on my face as I stick my head out of the shower, extending a hand.

He's carrying a stack of three under one arm. I reach out to take them, aware of the power imbalance between us. Not only because I'm in his house, not only because I have no clothes on in his shower and he's fully dressed. Not only because he's over a head taller than me or because he has a body that looks like it's built to snap me in half without lifting a finger. But mostly because... I'm afraid. I'm not afraid of what he might do to me or what I might let him do. I'm afraid of the truths that I see buried in his eyes that I came here to dig up.

"Thank you," I say, taking one and wrapping it around my torso. Pristine white Egyptian cotton slides against my skin, not imbued with his scent but with that of simple, clean, laundry detergent. As I take another towel for my hair, my elbow knocks my phone into the toilet with a splash. I push the shower door open the rest of the way and get out. If I were the type to swear, now would be the time to do it. "Darn."

In my hurried panic to reach my phone, I ignore that I'm not wearing anything except a towel, my arms and legs bare. I nearly slip and fall on the tiled floor before Antonio catches my arm. Again. His grip on my forearm is firm enough that even if I wanted to go crashing to the floor, I know he would hold me still. My breath hitches in my throat as I stare up at him, his grey eyes meeting mine. Heat radiates from his body onto my chilled, clammy skin, and a shiver wracks my body. My teeth dig into my lower lip to keep from chattering. To my surprise, he lets go of my arm, unfolds the remaining towel, and wraps it around my shoulders. His touch gentle, like he's taking care of a small child.

He actually rolls up his sleeves and fishes out my phone for me before shutting the toilet lid. I have to bite down on my lip to keep my jaw from dropping. "I'll take care of this. There are clothes laid out for you in the room down the hall."

With that, he's gone.

She smells like me. The housekeeper left my toiletries in the bathroom instead of fetching one of my sisters' things, and Christina Martell... smells like me. The scent emanating from her soft skin matches mine instead of her usual scent of roses. She feels like mine. She's not. I have to keep reminding myself that she isn't mine. She's not my girl, she's not my possession, she's sure as heck, not my property. But I am damned if she doesn't feel like it.

Why does she seem so special? What makes her any different from the dozens of girls I've been with, in the past? Is it only that she isn't from my world, only that she appears untainted, unspoiled, pure? She seems innocent, refreshing, a gasp of air amidst the crashing waves threatening to pull me under. But that's not even true, because she is a part of my world whether she likes it or not and whether she knows it or not, simply by blood. She's a Martell.

I press the power button on her phone to see if it still works. It does, and messages pop up on the lit screen, the sight of the names filling me with a sort of quiet fury.

I power her phone off in case Lucas Black decides to use it to track her down. Then, I build a fire in the fireplace, heaping coals and logs on top of each other and lighting a match. The fragrance of woodsmoke fills the room just as Christina enters in a black, ankle-length, lacy nightgown that Allie left in the closet on her hasty departure. It's shorter on her than on Allie, the hem falling to mid-calf, but it covers everything that needs to be covered, unlike the towel from earlier. I'm glad the woodsmoke aroma chokes out the scent of her--my own scent on her.

I pass her a cup of tea. She accepts it with a nod, face lowered to the black and white marble tiles. Is it fear or apprehension in her gaze that keeps her from not meeting mine? I lean my hip against the counter, watching her as she sips the steaming liquid.

"You have questions for me," I say. Not a suggestion, but a statement. Why else would she be here?

She drains half the mug's contents before setting it on the counter. Her wet hair clings to her shoulders, dampening the black fabric. "Yes."

"Ask them, then." I try to sound bored, but in reality, I want to hear her queries. I want to spark her curiosity, to know what thoughts course through her mind behind those lovely brown eyes. "We have all night."

She shudders at the reminder of that. The reminder that she isn't leaving this house for at least a night. Christina's gaze is on her nails, studying her olive green manicure like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I... I don't know where to start."

"Your father." I finish my tea and leave the mug in the sink. "Your mother. The nature of our relationship. All the topics you could ask me about."

"What about you?" she asks me, looking up from her fingers. "Can I ask you about yourself?"

I cock my head, her question surprising me. "Did you come here to ask about me? Or did you come here for more important things?"

"Everything is important in the grand scheme of things," she says quietly.

Her answer gnaws at me. I want to hear a different one, but what sort of different? "Very few things are important in the grand scheme of things. But you are not here to philosophize, Christina. Ask me a question."

"I did," she said, and I was so perplexed by her.

If she had come here to talk about her father I would have answered her. I would have told her who he was, who her sisters were, how messed-up her real family was. I would have scared her far away or I would have dragged her even deeper into my world and enmeshed her even more firmly into my life. If she wanted to ask what I was to her, or why I had asked her out, I could have answered that too. I could have told her that I had asked her out only to annoy her father and mine, but that there was something I saw in her now that made me unable to let her go.

But a personal question? Sad as it was, that was beyond me.

"Ask me, then." I look away as she reaches up to put her damp hair into a twist, shifting the sheer panels of the dress. "Isn't that what you came here for? Ask me a question."

"What do you want with me, Antonio?"